e
rid of Storch at any cost--after that, perhaps, it would not matter
whether he had one or six or a hundred victims marked for destruction.
He was afraid of Storch and he had now to prove his courage to
himself.

It was at the blackest hour before dawn that this realization grew to
full stature. He raised himself upon his elbow, listening to the heavy
breathing of Storch. He rose cautiously. Now was his chance. He would
escape while his conviction was still glistening with the freshness of
crystallization. Moving with a catlike tread toward the door, he put
his hand upon the knob. It turned noisily. He heard Storch leap to his
feet. He stood quite still until Storch came up to him.

"Go back to bed ... where you belong!" Storch was commanding, coolly,
with a shade of menace in his voice.

He shuffled back to his couch. He was no longer afraid of Storch, but
a certain craftiness suddenly possessed him.

Presently he heard a key turn and he felt himself to be completely in
the hands of his jailer. Yet the locked door became at once the symbol
of both Storch's strength and weakness. Storch was determined to have
either his body or his soul. And, at that moment, Fred Starratt made
his choice.

Next morning Storch was up early and bustling about with unusual
clatter.

"Get up!" he cried, gayly, to Fred. "Do you realize this is Friday?...
There are a thousand details to attend to."

Fred pretended to find Storch's manner infectious. He had never seen
anyone so eager, so thrilling with anticipation.

"I've got to buy you a new outfit complete," Storch went on, filling
the coffeepot with water. "And you must be shaved and shorn and made
human-looking again. Rags are well enough to wrap discontent in ...
but one should have a different make-up for achievement... What was
the matter last night?"

"Oh, a bit of panic, I guess," Fred returned, nonchalantly. "But I'm
all right this morning."

Storch rubbed his hands in satisfaction, and he smiled continually.

They went out shortly after nine o'clock and in San Francisco's embryo
ghetto at McAllister and Fillmore streets they bought a decent-looking
misfit suit and a pair of second-hand shoes, to say nothing of a
bargain in shirts. A visit to a neighboring barber followed. Storch
permitted Fred to enter the shop alone, but he stood upon the corner
and waited.

When the barber finished, Fred was startled. Standing before the
mirror he gazed at his smooth-shaven chee